Doctor John
by Pikeru's Angel
Summary: John was late. By two hours. That never happened. Sherlock really was getting worried. Part six of seven in the Sapphire series.


Seven o'clock at night. John would have been out from surgery for almost and hour. No reason he shouldn't have been home unless he had another row with an unmanned checkout at the store. Unlikely, considering they didn't need anything. Held up at work then? He would have called though. Sherlock knew he would have called. So what was taking so long?

Eight thirty. Worry started to set in. He texted John, several times, and there still wasn't a response. He tried calling, too. Still nothing.

Nine twenty. The phone rings. Sherlock jumped, rushing over to where he'd set his cell on the table and picking up. "Yes?" He said hurriedly. It was John. He knew it was, but the breathing pattern was off. Shaking. Why did it sound like he'd been crying recently?

"I won't be home tonight." Came the tight reply. Yes, John has definitely been crying. "Something happened at the clinic and - God Sherlock. Who the hell would do something like that? Damnit, I should have noticed sooner. He came in all the time! What the hell kind of-"

"John!" Sherlock interrupted suddenly, voice calm in the raging storm or emotions and -it seemed- self-blame. "Breathe. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Like you have me do. Now what's going on?" There's silence. A heavy silence and Sherlock feels a lump forming in his throat. "I'll be over shortly." And he heard John nod, the sound skin rubbing against the plastic of the phone, and he hung up.

Unfortunately, he was not there "shortly" in any sense of the word. His cabbie was slow and infernal and for some odd reason there was a large amount of traffic. When he did finally arrive at the hospital it was nearing ten o'clock on what should have been a ten-minute cab ride. When he asks the nurse where Doctor Watson is he almost laughs because she says he's just outside 221, pacing at the door like a madman. Except he can't because it's John and 221 is in the pediatrics wing.

He ran. As soon as the nurse told him, he ran. He bumped into people, knocked over a contented looking teenager visiting a sibling recovering from cancer (and why did his mind give him these useless facts?), and quite nearly trampled someone's sleeping dog in his haste. This was John though. John, who had been crying over the phone and sounded so pissed at himself and Sherlock couldn't figure out why.

John was exactly where the nurse had said he would be. Just outside the door of 221, fingers twitching and running nervously through his hair every few seconds. He's muttering to himself, and Sherlock can hear the words "breathe" and "damnit" the most often.

With a slight sigh, Sherlock walked over, stopping John mid-pace with a simple hand to the shoulder. His breathing was ragged and upset, but it smoothed a little bit. He turned around, slowly, and the first thing Sherlock noted was the red-rimmed eyes and the dried tear tracks.

"What happened?" He asked, pulling the shorter man in to thin, wiry arms. John shook against his chest.

"I should have seen it." He whispered. "He always said it was fine. Why the hell did I believe him?"

The shaking was getting worse now, and John's breath hitched every few moments. Sherlock raised a hand, running it awkwardly through the doctor's hair. "Slow down," he said, tone equally quiet. "What's going on?"

So John explained. He told Sherlock about Zackary, who had been coming to the clinic just about daily for a few months. The boy had said he wasn't well liked at his new school (just moved to London) and that he got into little fights a lot. That hadn't been what was happening at all. It was his father, whom the mother had recently divorced. Sherlock stiffened at that, but urged John to keep going. The older man shook his head, tears trailing down flushed cheeks.

"The landlady found him," came the continuation several minutes later. "Something about the rent being late. He was over the boy, and God he was about to…" He choked on a sob. That didn't need to be elaborated on. "He's been here since yesterday. Hasn't woken up at all, but his father is in prison at the moment, and visitation rights are being stripped from the mother." He choked slightly on a sigh, pulling away. "I just wish I knew if he was going somewhere safe. Most foster homes are only in it for the money."

Sherlock nodded. The foster care system was, more often than not, more detrimental to the child in question than anything else, and abuse and suicide rates were incredibly high, along with a whole plethora of issues. It simply wasn't to be trusted. However…

"Our papers came into today." Sherlock suggested quietly, looking exactly over John's left shoulder. "The ones so we're eligible to adopt. It's why I texted you to come home at lunch, so I could tell you."

John looked up, his face contorted in a sort of happy shock. "So you mean we can…?"

"Yeah."

In an instant Sherlock felt himself being wrapped in a tight hug, a chaste kiss being planted on his lips. His eyes widened momentarily before closing. This was just another of those things that John did when absolutely elated about something.

At least he's stopped crying. Sherlock thought as his arms sort of awkwardly brought themselves around john's torso. They'd been together almost one and a half years, and it still wasn't normal. Not completely.

After several minutes of just standing there in the hall, getting several stares from passers-by, John untangled himself, grinning like a loon.

"You should probably see him, even if he's not awake." He suggested. Sherlock nodded dumbly.

"Good idea."

{][][}

Zachary was bored. Out of his mind. He kind of wished he could get out of bed and pace, but his leg was fractured and the ankle on the other leg was shattered. He'd already had surgery on it.

Logically (or as logical as an eight-nearing-nine year old could be) he knew he should have been upset. His mum couldn't see him anymore, and his father had just beaten him pretty badly, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was just sort of… numb, and it wasn't as if he hadn't been hit before. Just not enough to have to come to the hospital. (Because, really, most of the normal stuff was superficial and he just came in to see Doctor John. He was nice, and he worked with a crazy detective and if Zach was bored he'd tell him about their latest case.)

He also knew he shouldn't have been awake just then. He'd been passed out for over a day, and it was kind of odd to just wake up and then stare at the ceiling for half and hour bored out of your head. That wasn't important though.

The door opened, slowly, and Zach jerked up. He knew exactly who it would be.

"Doctor John!" He said excitedly, grinning.

Except it wasn't just Doctor John (or DJ for short). There was another man behind him. He was tall, with curly brown hair that was grown out just a bit too long. He seemed nervous, though Zach couldn't figure out why. The newcomer was also wearing a blue scarf with jagged grey lines that looked really familiar. It was the one that he'd helped DJ knit for his "partner", the detective.

His grin grew wider.

The tall man, smirked slightly, raising an eyebrow as Doctor John blushed.

"Zach," DJ said, stepping to the side. "This is Sherlock."

Sherlock? That was his name? Kind of a funny name, if you asked Zach. Cool too, but mostly weird. Not that anyone asked.

The dark haired boy stuck out a hand (the one that hadn't been broken) like his mum always taught him as Sherlock came closer. "Nice ta meet ya, D Sherlock."

With the smirk turning to a soft grin, Sherlock took the hand. "D?" He questioned. Zach shrugged.

"Well, yeah. D for detective. Have ta add somethin' instead of mister, don't I?" Zach didn't know why he started laughing. It made perfect sense to him.

"You two gonna be my new dads?" He asked out of the blue, releasing Sherlock's hand.

Both men froze for a second, but again Zach didn't know why. All he did was ask a question. But then, he dad got mad if he asked those sometimes, when he was buy with something. They weren't though. Nothing made sense with these two it seemed.

Finally, after several much-too-long minutes, DJ answered. "Maybe. Probably."

Zach grinned, and green eyes lit up.

"Cool!"

{][][}

**A/N: I feel like Zach's reaction to the whole thing... Underplayed. But in my mind he's like Amelia in "Maybe". Sort of ignorant of the gravity of the situation, ya know? Anyway, sorry for that and anything (everything) I got wrong. Not exactly from the UK here, and the internet search is unreliable.**

**Oh, and because I can, Zach is mine. You can borrow him, but you can't have him. The rest belongs to BBC and ecetera, ecetera.**

**Reviews get hand-knitted scaves via John.  
John in background: *starts knitting, glances over, raises eyebrow, then goes back back to knitting* What? It's soothing.  
Me: No one said anything, John.  
John: They were thinking it.**

**~Piki :B**


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